


Corpse Candle (A Hallowe'en Tale)

by JantoJones



Series: Brief Briefings [67]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:46:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8606017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones





	

The full moon emerged from behind a cloud, bathing the whole area in an eerie white light. It coincided with a cool breeze, which blew several crispy brown leaves between the gravestones in the cemetery. Overhead a colony of bats squeaked as they swooped past and Napoleon Solo wondered if he was to be witness to every horror movie cliché. While he pondered, hiding behind a mausoleum, an owl hooted. Borrowing the action from his partner, Napoleon rolled his eyes.

"Come on, where are you?" he whispered into the darkness.

"The contact isn't due for another ten minutes," replied Illya Kuryakin, who was hiding beside him.

"Who schedules a handover, in a cemetery, at midnight on Hallowe'en?" Solo asked, sounding somewhat annoyed by it.

"Don't tell me you are afraid?" Illya snickered. "With the things you've seen, you are frightened of myths."

Napoleon chose not to dignify the taunt with an answer; choosing instead to keep an eye out for the agent who was bringing the package. A flickering light halfway across the ground appeared as though from nowhere. It was a pale orange colour and seemed to be taking a deliberate path between the stones. Solo tugged at Illya's sleeve and pointed out the light.

The two men watched in silence as the light slowing came towards them. The closer it got, the more it looked like a candle flame. They both held their breaths as it passed by them, but Napoleon couldn't stop himself from gasping as he saw what looked like a face. The light continued onwards until it came to a stop over an empty patch of land. It flared brightly then disappeared.

"What the Hell was that?" Napoleon hissed.

Illya didn't reply right away. When he'd lived in Britain he had read stories of such things, but had taken them with a pinch of salt.

"It was a Corpse Candle," he said eventually. "They are a portent of death in Welsh and Celtic mythology."

"What are you talking about?"

"It is said that the light issues from a house where a death is about to occur," Illya continued. "It travels along the route of what will be the funeral procession until it reaches the soon-to-be deceased's burial plot."

"I take it the face is that of the person who is about to die," Napoleon stated.

"Da," Kuryakin confirmed. "But it is only a myth."

"Then what did we just see?"

Illya didn't answer. He refused to believe that they had just seen a Corpse Candle. Besides, this was the American Mid-West, not Mid-Wales. Luckily for the two of them, their contact arrived and drew their minds back to the job in hand.

Three days later, Napoleon entered the office he shared with his partner, and handed a piece of paper to him.

"What's this?" Kuryakin asked.

"I was thinking about that light we most definitely didn't see in the cemetery," Napoleon told him. "I decided to look into any deaths in that area. It would seem one gentleman died half a mile away, at three o'clock, on the morning of November 1st."

Illya looked at the information Napoleon had given him.

NAME: Bryn Rhydian Williams  
BORN: 17th August 1892 – Llandeilo, Carmarthenshire. Wales.  
DIED: 1st November 1966 – Aurora, Nebraska. USA.

"Apparently he came here just after the first world war," Napoleon explained. "Seems he brought his Welsh mythology with him."

Illya shivered.

"I think I need a drink," he said, putting his jacket on.


End file.
